


as hours go by

by maddy_does (favefangirl)



Series: carry on countdown 2020 [5]
Category: Carry On Series - Rainbow Rowell
Genre: Alternate Universe - Normal Life, Established Relationship, Future Fic, Insecurity, Kid Fic, M/M, kind of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-29
Updated: 2020-11-29
Packaged: 2021-03-10 02:41:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,252
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27777025
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/favefangirl/pseuds/maddy_does
Summary: Babysitting. How hard can it be?
Relationships: Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch/Simon Snow
Series: carry on countdown 2020 [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2026733
Comments: 2
Kudos: 23
Collections: Carry On Countdown 2020





	as hours go by

**Author's Note:**

> Carry On Countdown Day 5, NOV 29: Sleepless

“Thank you so much for this,” she’d said. “You’re both amazing,” she’d said. “She’s slept a lot today but it should be fine,” she’d said. 

“Of course,” Simon had said, as I’d taken Prudence from Mordelia’s arms. “How hard can it be?”

Well, it’s now twenty past one in the morning, neither of us have slept, we’re three shit explosions in and there’s suspicious new stain on our cream living room carpet, and all of this is just further proof that Simon Snow is a  _ fucking idiot _ . 

See, turns out when babies sleep all day, that means they don’t sleep at night. No, at night they want to cry and play and if their favourite, shitty, kids TV programme doesn’t play on an endless loop, they will have a full on meltdown. 

Prudence is tiny, she got the genes from Daphne’s side of the family, so it’s quite the feat of science that so much  _ liquid  _ can come out of her. She’s drooled her way through three of my t-shirts, we’ve had to change her nappy six times (there’s got to be something medically wrong with her, that can’t be normal, surely) and oh how much she cries. She cries at everything. Too hot, she cries, too cold, she cries, nappy full, she cries, undressed to change her nappy, she cries. I think in a minute,  _ I’m  _ going to cry.

“Simon can you please take her while I change my t-shirt,” I ask, because while Prudence is not happy until she’s watching whatever this farcical television show is (why are the dogs in charge of this town’s health and safety? They’re dogs that can talk, why haven’t they been shipped off to a lab? Why is everyone okay with this?) she also needs to be held the entire time she’s watching it.

Simon looks at me, horrified. “Can’t you just put her down on the mat?”

I squint at him and am perhaps a little aggressive when I say, “I’m just asking you to hold her so she doesn’t start crying again.” His expression hasn’t changed, and as I reach out to pass her to him, he takes a step away. “Simon,” I say, sharply. He just shakes his head and pulls his arms into his body. “Simon, for God’s sake, she's just a baby.”

“Exactly!” he says, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

“What on Earth are you talking about?” I’m exasperated and exhausted, but no one knows how to test my patience quite like Simon does. 

“Look at her, she’s tiny! What if I break her somehow!” He looks genuinely terrified of the possibility, and it does make my heart break a little.

“Simon, you’ll be fine.”

“Look at that pot I broke. If I drop her, it’ll be a lot worse than just upsetting your stepmother!”

It had been a £3000 pot Daphne had had imported from Athens, something to add to her growing collection that she seems to be hellbent on filling the house with now that all her children have flown the nest. Simon and I had gone to pick it up for her because it was on our way to visit for a family meal. Simon being the stronger of us two had chosen to carry it. In hindsight, this was a monumental fuck up on my part as we’d managed to make it all the way up the drive way, Daphne waiting at the door looking overjoyed at her purchase, when Simon dropped it and it smashed at Daphne’s feet. Dinner had been mighty awkward after that.

I take a couple of steps towards him, conscious of making sure Prudence could still see the TV at all times. He's rooted to the spot looking terrified. Using one hand to keep Prudence pressed to my body, with the other I grab one of Simon’s arms and bring it to her. He's biting his lip hard, hands trembling a little as I guide them. When his hands are in the right place, I slowly begin to put her weight onto him. She babbles a little, until Simon is fully holding her.

“Now bring her to your chest,” I advise. He nods and does as he’s told. Prudence looks up at him and pulls the face she makes whenever she’s about to start crying. We both hold our breaths until she giggles and pokes his cheek right under his eye, then goes back to watching the TV. He grins up at me and it’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. “I’ll be two minutes,” I promise before I rush into our bedroom.

I change my t-shirt then pause for a second to let the fuzzy feeling in my stomach die down. Simon’s smile, the way he’d looked cradling Prudence against his chest, thinking about him one day holding a child of our own - -

I don’t know where the thought has come from. It’s never crossed my mind before to have kids. I know that miracles of science state I could have one of my own, and then there’s always the options of fostering or adopting, but I’ve never thought about it really. I never thought I’d want a dependent, but the thought of Simon and I widening our family or opening our home to kids like him who’ve only ever needed half a chance to prove they’re more than their stereotypes, it doesn’t seem like too bad of an idea if you ask me.

I shake try and shake the thought from my head. We might be earning enough between us now to support a family, and we’ve both  _ mostly  _ worked through our individual traumas, enough that we’re not gonna have a kid and fuck it up any more than the average parent would, but we live in a one bed third floor flat in the middle of London that has cream carpets and no outdoor space. We couldn’t raise any children here. We’d have to move to the suburbs and - -

And oh God I sound like Daphne. 

_ And  _ I’m getting massively ahead of myself here. Simon dotes on Prudence whenever we see her, and he’s always sending her gifts, but that in no way means he’s looking for one of his own. Plus, look how he reacted at just having to hold her, like he was destined to break her. We couldn’t have a kid unless we were both sure we’d be able to deal with the possibility that we might do something wrong, and I don’t know if Simon’s there yet. Or if he ever will be…

I’m about at my limit for fruitless ponderings, so I make my way back into the living room where Simon has sat himself on the floor in front of the TV, cross legged with Prudence in the circle they make, letting her hold one of his fingers in her chubby fist. I’m shocked, looking at the scene, by how much I want this to become my reality. My stupid, beautiful boyfriend and our child watching TV far loo late at night (or early in the morning, I suppose) both looking completely content.

I swallow thickly and make myself busy in the kitchen on some teas. It’s just sleep depravation. We’re bordering on two in the morning, and Simon and I are usually in bed for twelve. We’re both early risers. I wouldn’t be thinking anything of the sort if I hadn’t been awake for nearly 20 hours straight now. Once I’m rested all these crazy thoughts will be long gone.

I hand Simon his tea and then get to work trying to tidy a little. There are toys strewn across the carpet, a bag of dirty nappies by the bin, there are bits of crisps and crackers all over the floor because apparently Prudence has a thing for the savoury. I get started on the toys first, putting them back in the bag that Mordelia brought with her. There are a few extra in there that Simon just couldn’t resist, apparently. This child honestly has him wrapped so far around his little finger, it’s laughable.

“Baz,” I hear softly from behind me, and when I turn around, Prudence has her head lolling against Simon’s knee, finally, blissfully, asleep.

“Oh thank God,” I whisper, looking to the ceiling.

“What now?” he asks, looking at the child sprawled across his legs.

It’s an intricate manoeuvre getting her from the floor to the travel cot. I don’t think I breathe until she’s laying there, fast asleep. I check the clock and it’s close to three now. I’m a bit delirious, but we still need to finish cleaning the living room and the kitchen, and I can’t remember when Simon last ate but he never can sleep on an empty stomach.

We make our way quietly back out of the room, Simon yawning as we go. Simon heads to make some toast while I finish putting the living room back in order. My eyes are itching and my throat is dry and I’ve never wanted to go to bed more in my life. Simon eats the toast as he washes the dishes, then has to clean the side when he gets crumbs everywhere. I finish the living room and run the nappies down to the industrial bins in the basement. 

When I come back up, Simon is sprawled on the sofa, eyes closed. He looks so peaceful that I’m momentarily distracted and the door slips out of my grip to slam closed behind me. Simon and I stare at each other, each with our eyes wide open. We wait for a moment. Then two. Then just as I think we’re in the clear, crying starts from the next room. Honestly, it’s a miracle  _ I  _ don’t cry.

“I’ll get the bottle,” Simon mumbles.

I’m tempted by a bottle of my own as I pass the whiskey on our drawers, but I am actually a responsible uncle-cum-babysitter, so instead I just head straight for the bedroom.

“Hey, shush, it’s okay baby, I’m sorry. You’re okay,” I coo as I lift Prudence out of the cost and hold her to my chest. 

I try bouncing her a little in my arms and shushing her softly, but she’s determined to scream. Simon comes in a few minutes later with the bottle. He hesitates in the doorway before holding out his arms to me. It warms my heart enough that I don’t even question handing Prudence over, not that I would anyway. He takes her ever-so-carefully into his arms and as he does, her wails die down to unhappy little murmurs.

“Baby whisperer,” I tease, and he grins. He goes to sit on the bed, and takes the cap off the bottle. “Have you checked the temperature?”

“Of course,” he says, frowning at me.

“Sorry,” I whisper back as he places the nipple of the bottle in Prudence’s mouth. 

It looks so right, Simon in our bed, acting like a good, responsible dad. Being loving and kind and all the things he always doubts himself as being capable of, but that I see in him all the time. And maybe this is just the lack of sleep talking, but I’ve never wanted a reality so bad in all my life. It’s all I can think about as Prudence finishes the bottle, as I take it to the kitchen, as I come back into the bedroom to see Simon’s laying on the bed with Prudence on his chest, rubbing circles into her back and she mumbles nonsense into his skin. And I realise that this moment right here is all I want for the rest of my life.

I really really want it. Even as we stand on a maximum hour's worth of sleep at nine in the morning in our demolished living room handing Prudence back to Mordelia, it’s still all I want. The mess, the tiredness, the worry, the love. As long as it’s Simon and I, I’ll take it all and be thankful for it every single day.

Just before he closes the door, Simon kisses Prudence on the forehead. “I want one,” I say when the door clicks shut. Simon squints at me, then the door, then back to me. He takes two uncertain steps forward until he reaches me, then very gently presses his lips to my temple. It’s all the proof I need that there is a God. “No, I want a baby.”

He stares at me for a minute, and I start to think I’ve really fucked up. I mean, this is a conversation you’re meant to ease into, right? Over dinner,  _ slowly _ , not in the middle of your living room at nine o'clock in the morning after getting next to no sleep the night before. He stares at me then suddenly he takes me by the waist and kisses me hard. I melt into it the way I always do because it’s Simon, and I am so, so weak, and this doesn’t feel like a no.

“We’re missing a bit of the anatomy between the two of us,” I tease when he finally pulls away.

“Me too,” he says shaking his head. “I want us to have a baby as well.” I grin at him and he grins back. “But do you think we could go to bed first? I’m knackered.”

“Oh my God, yes,” I say, pulling him by the hand back into the bedroom, where we collapse onto the bed and are asleep in minutes.

**Author's Note:**

> in my head this was gonna be such a great idea, but the execution is poor and that makes me sad. hopefully you enjoy it anyway?
> 
> anyway, if you wanna leave a comment or a kudos they're much appreciated! especially let me know if there's something you think i forgot to tag! please validate me. i beg.
> 
> i'm taking prompts! if you're interested please drop the prompt in the comments below. if you do send a prompt be prepared for me to take fifty years to fill it because school is so hard (or, i guess, uni now, lol), but i promise i'll try! come say hi on tumblr: [@maddy-does](https://maddy-does.tumblr.com/)
> 
> thanks for reading, have a wonderful existence.


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